


Croque's Letter

by Python07



Series: More Than Meets the Eye [2]
Category: Jack of All Trades (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Croque writes a letter to an old friend after his run in with Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Croque's Letter

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to Croque's Hidden Talents

My dearest Philippe, 

Pulau-Pulau is much the same. I suppose one could reasonably call it a paradise. It is beautiful. The beaches are pristine and on a clear day the water looks like blue crystal. A botanist would have a field day with all the different species of flowers and trees. I have acquired a taste for the local spices in my food and Camille doesn’t have the palette to tell the difference.

It is amusing to watch her tilt her head to the side as she tries to place the taste. She reminds me of a dog, a heavily bejeweled dog, who quickly loses the scent. Then she catches me watching her, sniffs in disdain, and starts eating again. She ignores me the whole time. Thank God.

However, this island can get hot as Hades and the sand gets everywhere. Tropical storms hit without warning. The pirates are a menace to be contained but not eradicated. It is unfortunate we don’t have a Pompey the Great amongst us to rid us of them once and for all. In this instance, Napoleon is not one, not that he would admit it. He blames me when shipments around the island are lost despite the fact I have no ships at my disposal.

Each time he writes to me, I can hear him shouting as I read it. I picture him pacing in his study, seething and calling curses down upon my head. He tends to tire quickly and his strongman paces for him. I would laugh if I wasn’t so terrified.

The natives see us as outsiders at best and invaders at worst. I try to let them live as they wish as long as they pay their taxes. I honestly have no wish to see them assimilate. I can confide that to you if no one else. Not that anyone would believe me. I follow Napoleon’s wishes and desires in all things and that is the only way I survive. Thankfully, he has come to expect my ineptness as a matter of course. When his plans go too far, I can simply bumble my way through them and they fall apart.

I miss home. I miss the countryside. I miss snow at Christmas and the warmth of your father’s hall. 

I can still see midnight mass at St. Roch’s. Do you remember all of the candles and sweet smelling incense? The stained glass was always so beautiful and old Pierre’s Silent Night solo was a wonder in itself. That man had the voice of an angel. I’m sure you listen to him at any opportunity.

Listen to me. I am maudlin and homesick and it does me no good. I know all of this. You know all of this. I have confided in you before.

I do not write to you only to complain. I write to you because you are one of the only true friends I have ever had and you have never judged me. You have always listened.

You have also never hesitated to speak your mind. And, yes, I am drawing again. I have been experimenting with charcoal. I like the way it feels under my fingertips. I like the shadows and blurred lines I can achieve with it. In fact, I am smudging the paper as I write to you now but I know that you don’t mind. I will have to scrub my hands before anyone sees me but that is only a minor inconvenience.

Napoleon may be a patron of the arts, but it is not a hobby to be indulged in by a member of his own family. He is like our father in that way. I lack the strength to stand up to him on this. Besides, buffoons have no talent.

I’m doing it again. I’m slapping myself on the forehead for you. I will have to wash my face as well.

I will have to bring this letter to a close soon. I have been gone too long. Brogard is the only one who knows of my sanctuary and I dread Camille following him if he has to come to get me.

First, I must confess to you, that I almost took that brash Jack Stiles to my bed. We both had too much wine at Camille’s party. He started staring at me and I must have been seeing things in his gaze.

He can be an insolent blowhard, but he can also be fun and he is insufferably attractive. I only wanted a little bit of that fun. I didn’t see the harm in extending the invitation.

He seemed to enjoy my attentions when we were finally alone, but I was wrong. I will not bore you with the details. Forgive me, my friend. Forgive my weakness.

As always, I hope my thoughts find you and I miss you.

 

Croque re-read the letter one last time before he signed it. He folded it and slipped it into an unmarked envelope. Then he sealed it with wax.

He took a book of matches from his desk. He lit a corner of the letter on fire. He watched it burn.

He dropped it in an ashtray just before it could burn his fingers. He sat back in his chair. He rubbed the back of his neck and watched the smoke curl upwards towards the skylight, towards the heavens.

He sighed heavily and dropped his hands to the desktop. He noticed the charcoal still staining his skin. He looked down at his loose peasant’s clothes. The shirt was covered in paint and charcoal strains. He smiled ruefully and pushed away from the desk. “I really must wash and get back. The Governor cannot ignore his duties.”


End file.
